The Case of the Outwitted Detective
by tranimation
Summary: Sherringford Basil receives a visit from "THE Woman" and matches wits with her yet again, not as an enemy, but as a client. Canonical (TGMD): Mystery: On-going. Rated K for cuteness.
1. The Call

**THE GREAT MOUSE DETECTIVE: THE CASE OF THE OUTWITTED DETECTIVE  
Chapter I: "The Call"  
**REVISED EDITION

Dramatised by Diane N. Tran (tranimation)

* * *

For those who unaware of my origins in the _Great Mouse Detective_, back in 1999, I was one of forerunners of the Basilian community, back when it was small and intimate, back when the internet was still brand-new (and days of dial-up), under the pseudonym of "Mlle. Irene Relda." I brought literary and scholastic aspects from Sherlockiana into Basiliana, coining terms like "Basilian," "canon," "TGMD," differences between "pastiche" to "fanfiction," awareness of the Titus Canon, etc, due to the fact I was an amateur Sherlockian scholar — emphasis on "amateur," because I wasn't an _official_ member of any professional Sherlockian literary society, although I did attend a few meetings with the Diogenes Club of Dallas, a scion of the Baker Street Irregulars of New York and Franco-Midland Hardware Company of England, and I did write a few essays that have been professionally published in Sherlockian magazines and pamphlets. However, I had since watched the Basilian community has blown up into this full-fledged, uncontrolled, unprofessional "fandom" that we see today and it had left a bad taste in my mouth because I had hopes to elevate the community into something with more literary dignity and clout than "fangirlism." Due to events beyond my control, where my _Great Mouse Detective_ site was shut down by Geocities, attending college, concentrating on a career, etc, I had since disappeared from the community went onto other projects, yet I'm continually flabbergasted whenever Basilians remember me.

This story, originally entitled as _Outwitted Again?_, is an adaptation of the episode of "The Adventure of the Second Generation" of the Old Time Radio program known as _The New Adventures of Sherlock Holmes_, starring Basil Rathbone and Nigel Bruce, and was literarily transcribed by Ken Greenwald in _The Lost Adventures of Sherlock Holmes_. I always enjoyed this story and had re-adapted it for my own _New Adventures of the Great Mouse Detective_ back in 2000 with great success. I'm flattered that certain Basilians remember this story still with great fondness and have been often asked for copies of it. I've been meaning to revise it, deleting the mistakes and adding new details, for I have since improved and matured significantly as a writer over these years. This revised edition will also be a "special collector's edition" for the diehard fans of my work, assuming I even _have_ diehard fans to begin with, who choose to download it from my DeviantArt (with extra goodies). Full details will be made available once the _final_ chapter is released.

Some explanation for _the_ Woman's entitlements may be required: "Primadonna Teatru Wielki" (Polish, "The First Lady of Grand Theatre") is a reference to the original Sherlock Holmes story where she was the _prima donna_ of the "Imperial Opera of Warsaw." In reality, there is no Imperial Theatre in Warsaw: The national theatre of Poland, which was part of the German Empire at the time, is the Grand Theatre (Teatr Wielki); the Imperial Theatre (now called the Bolshoi Theatre) is in Moscow. "Seconda Donna della Scala" (Italian, "The Second Lady of La Scala"), which is the Italy's world-famous national operahouse, where the original Irene Adler performed; therefore being "La Reine du Palais Garnier" (French, "Queen of Palais Garnier"), the national operahouse of France, didn't seem too far off. How a contralto (rather than soprano) became the star of these powerhouses of classical theatre is a bit of a paradox but not unheard of because _true_ contraltos are amongst the _rarest_ of vocal ranges (and, while starring roles for contraltos are rare, they are among the most coveted). "Princesse de la Renaissance" (French, "Princess of the Renaissance") refers to the Théâtre de la Renaissance, one of the top three Parisian theatre companies and the only one of the three to survive to present-day: I always imagined that my Irene Relda got bored of the limitations of operahouses, primarily due to the rarity of contralto roles, and went on to a career on the legitimate stage theatre with great success (and a little help from family). The significance of the Théâtre de la Renaissance and the origin of the entitlement of "The New Helen" will be revealed in later chapters.

To associate a woman as an "actress" was considered _filthier_ than "adventuress": While it was widely used during the Victorian/Edwardian era in ambiguous association with "courtesan," it was also a term for a woman of a "cleaner" reputation who had an independent lifestyle, career-oriented women, which was shocking at a time when women weren't allowed to own property, because they _were_ property. This was a time where women weren't allowed own their own house, weren't allowed have their own bank account, weren't allowed to keep their own children if divorced, and weren't allowed to earn their own income outside the realm of inheritance and/or marriage, let alone have a "career." One of these independent "careers" for "ladies of quality" was the "professional beauty," a phenomena, a fad, that came about during the period: She needed not be rich, highly born, nor well-educated (provided she had sense enough to escape from committing any glaring missteps); all that was required of her was that her face should be approved by society as a great beauty and her future was assured. While they didn't receive any money (as that would be akin to prostitution), they would be invited to the grand dinners and society galas, hobnob with the elite and privileged, became models for painters and photographers, their faces illustrated on advertisements and stationary (not necessarily with their personal permission), their exploits recorded in every newspaper, whatever they wore became objects of fashion, etc. The quintessential "Queen of the Professional Beauties" was an actress/adventuress named Lillie Langtry, lover of Edward VIII (and the eldest son of Queen Victoria of England), who was one of the real-life models (one of the primary models, at least) Sir Arthur Conan Doyle used for Irene Adler, and was nicknamed the "Jersey Lily" after her famous portrait by Sir John Everett Millais where she held a Jersey lily (_Amaryllis belladonna_), the national flower of Jersey, a British island located off the coast of Normandy where both Langtry and Millais were born (and note Irene Adler was born in New Jersey). Langtry was also known, less famously now than then, as "the woman in the little black dress" because, when she first came out into society as a professional beauty, she only had one dress to her name, which she wore (and altered) for every occasion, as she could not afford many dresses (which was considered odd and scandalous because, at the time, women would regularly change dresses about four to six times a day on average) and this was where the phrase of "the little black dress" originated from.

Now, I've gotten criticism by referring to my Irene Relda as a "Gibson Girl" because she doesn't have long, lustrous hair, but a short pixie-cut. The personification of the "Gibson Girl" was the "New (American) Woman," according to illustrator Charles Dana Gibson: She was idealization of feminine beauty, yes, but also was a satire of the sociopolitical progression of women with her statuesque, youthful, and ephemeral looks, portrayed generally as independent (satisfied if socializing with girlfriends, but deeply frustrated when saddled with marriage, viewing romantic love as a way to relieve herself of boredom), confident and socially respected (appearing calm if at ease or bored if dissatisfied, wearing simple but fashionable dresses and loosely-tied hair), athletic (riding bicycles, going to the beach), career-oriented and educated (attending colleges, reading books, playing chess, on a typewriter), sexually free or sexually dominant (comically prodding men with hairpins under a magnifying glass, trampling men under foot). Long hair was a "human" concept of femininity, yet the "mouse" concept of femininity would differ because they are, in fact, _mice_ and, as a result, do not necessarily follow the "human" standard (and, sadly, is a "standard" that still lives on today)! Four top models for the Gibson Girl were Irene Langhorne, a Southern belle, political activist, and wife of the illustrator; her sister Nancy Astor, Viscountess Astor, a divorcée (scandalous for the time) and the first female Member of Parliament in the British House of Commons; Camille Clifford, Belgian-born actress and model noted for her (in)famous wasp-shaped corset (whose figure became one of the inspirations for my character of Irene Relda); and Evelyn Nesbit ("The Girl in the Red Velvet Swing"), actress and model noted for her liaison with architect Stanford White. All four have been arguably associated to be "inspirations" for Conan Doyle's Irene Adler.

The actual Shakespearen quote is from _Much Ado About Nothing_: "It is no addition to her wit, nor no great argument of her folly, for I will be horribly in love with her." Sherlock Holmes, despite Watson's (somewhat inaccurate) assessment that his knowledge of literature was nil, was a great admirer of William Shakespeare and had quoted/misquoted/paraphrased the Bard several times, most famously "the game is afoot" from _Henry V_. The only Shakespearean play Holmes has quoted twice is _Twelfth Night_, which I always found interesting, as it dealt with an actress from a different shore who fools people by disguising herself as a man, which is Irene Adler in a nutshell. While he has never quoted _Much Ado_ in the Sacred Writings, I thought it was a nice hat-tip as the play was about a man who enters a battle of wits against a woman and, as a result, changes his misogynistic attitude, which is Holmes in a nutshell.

**Synopsis**: Sherringford Basil receives a visit from "_the_ Woman" and matches wits with her yet again, not as an enemy, but as a client. Canonical (TGMD): Mystery: On-going. Rated K for cuteness.

**Dedication**: To the "old" Basilian crowd, you know who you are, I remember you still and think of you still and love you all the more that you still remember me, too.

_The Great Mouse Detective_ © Eve Titus/Walt Disney  
Irene Relda (this version) © Diane N. Tran  
Oscar Milde © Diane N. Tran  
The name "Sherringford" © Diane N. Tran

* * *

To Sherringford Basil, she was always _the_ Woman. Before then, her public entitlements were many and varied — the Primadonna Teatru Wielki, la Seconda Donna della Scala, la Reine du Palais Garnier, la Princesse de la Renaissance, the Actress, the Adventuress, the Professional Beauty, the Woman in the Little Black Dress, the Jersey Lily, the New Helen, the Gibson Girl, but rarely was the name of Mademoiselle Irene Relda spoken under any other name, under any other entitlement, by my friend than _the_ Woman. In his eyes, she eclipsed the whole of her sex. I recall vividly our first encounter with the formidable woman those years ago. Her scheme to crumble the Kingdom of Bohemia, though foiled by Basil and I, was indeed ingenious and her escape even more so, with a blackmailing photograph, the root of the scandal, still in hand, leaving the best laid plans of the Great Mouse Detective beaten by a woman's wit. And yet, in spite of this, he held no grudge, no resentment, against her, but the greatest and gentlest of admiration for her bold and exceptional nature. Her name would reflect back thoughts and emotions that would remain his, and his alone.

It was on a drizzly day in March when these very thoughts re-surfaced again. Basil was laboring with chemical experiments, mumbling to himself, as he often did. A large, curved retort was boiling furiously over the bluish flame of a burner and distilled liquids of different colours and of different odours were condensing into measuring cups, as he dipped into his bottle or that, drawing out a few droplets of each with his glass pipette, and jostled a test-tube containing a solution with a jaunting eye, when a telegram arrived at our shared rooms of Lower 221B Baker Street.

"By my troth," his eyes twinkled and a grin flared widely across his face, as the detective began to paraphrase a Shakespearean quote with a clicking of his tongue, "it is no addition to her wit, nor no great argument of her folly, for I will be always astounded with her."

"What is it, Basil?" I asked, lowering my paper, and walked towards him.

He laughed to himself and handed me the card merrily:

_MY DEAR MR. SHERRINGFORD BASIL:_

_I SHALL CALL UPON YOU THIS AFTERNOON AT FOUR ON A MATTER OF SOME IMPORTANCE. I AM CERTAIN YOU ARE AWARE OF OUR HISTORY TOGETHER AND I HAVE NO DESIRE TO IDLE OURSELVES WITH EMBITTERED TIMES, BUT HOPE WE CAN START ANEW BY __EMBARKING ON A BRIDGE OF MUTUAL AGREEMENT _UPON MATTERS OF BUSINESS; AND I REMAIN, DEAR MR. BASIL,

_VERY TRULY YOURS,  
MLLE. IRENE RELDA._

"My word! Why is she coming to consult us? The absolute insolence, especially after all this time! Basil?"

I heard the sound of his scurried foot-steps pass behind me. He passed affront of me the second time, with bundle of old newspapers in his arms, hiding them behind the desk, then grabbed a silver savour with a tea-china set, and scampered across the room. He shot open a door and tossed the entire set carelessly out with a deafening crash. As he slammed the door, our landlady gave out a harsh wailing.

"It's all right, Mrs. Judson, I shall recompense for the lost," he hollered and off he went again.

Never had I seen Basil so agitated — or was it excited? — over the impendence of a client!

After some minutes, he finally walked calmly out of his rooms, sweeping his hair back, wearing his smartest ascot. He then glanced over the study, making certain that everything was in order, and then to myself:

"Good heavens, Dawson! You're not wearing _that_, are you? No, no, no, too late now!" he urged me away to answer the light knock at the door, with a hasty shooing of his hands. "Go answer the door and give her your full attention, for here she comes!"

* * *

URL: favdotme/d5wjpqb


	2. The Visitor

**THE GREAT MOUSE DETECTIVE: THE CASE OF THE OUTWITTED DETECTIVE  
Chapter II: "The Visitor"  
**REVISED EDITION

Dramatised by Diane N. Tran (tranimation)

* * *

"Ribston-pippin" is a type of tri-coloured apple with skin of yellow, flushed orange, and streaked red. "Queer Street" is a British colloquialism that originated in the early 1800s for an imaginary place where persons in financial difficulty, or other such flighty and/or "shady" characters, are feigned to live; it was generally associated with Carey Street, where London's bankruptcy courts were located. (The phrase was coined long before the 1920s, before "queer" was first used as a synonym for homosexuality.)

Granada is a "nod" to the _Sherlock Holmes_ series, starring Jeremy Brett, created by ITV Granada (formerly Granada Television) from 1984 and 1994. Throughout the series, there indicates a tight-knitted community within Baker Street and one place where Holmes and Watson seems to frequent the most often is the barbershop. Whenever the camera passes the salon or whenever we see inside the salon, I cannot help but smile, because this little barbershop is a slice of their everyday life that was never seen within the pages of the Sacred Writings. We see Holmes at the hairdresser in "Solitary Cyclist" after a haircut (who vainly slicks his hair back afterward), we see Holmes wave to Watson (with shaving cream over his face) through the salon window his morning dressing-gown in "Six Napoleons," and Holmes sat at the salon (in yet another state of "undress," without his gloves and walking-stick) in order to ask his barber's advice over hair samples found at a crime scene in "Resident Patient." Although the actor who plays the hairdresser is always different, he usually portrayed with a large, brown moustache, always has a perfectionist air about him, never seems to bat an eyelash at Holmes' otherwise "curious" activities, and there's the old saying that gentleman's barber is always his best friend. These detail, as minor and flippant as they are, portray the amount of intimacy and trust these two characters seem have with their nameless chirotonsor. Similar the character of Mrs. Hudson, he's treated as part of the background, much like a rug or a vase, yet he is a character privy to the frequent comings and goings of Holmes and Watson and, needless to say, I always felt he had stories to tell. I hope to one day pull "our good barber" out from the background to the foreground in an adventure of his own, as I did with Mrs. Judson in my pastiche of _The Landlady and the Poet_ (which is listed under my profile).

* * *

But there, unexpectedly, as I turned the knob to answer, stood the unfortunate sight of a middle-aged valet. Shivering from head to toe, his fluffy side-whiskers dribbled against his ruddy cheeks, his trousers clung to his knobby knees, his ill-fitted overcoat splattered in wet stains, his collar pulled up high, and his breath was irregular, as he held a small piece of paper in his gloved hand.

Basil's eager grin fled to an annoyed grimace at the sight of the ribston-pippin of a mouse, but ran his words courteously: "Excuse us, but we mistook you for someone else. How may we be of service to you?"

"Sorry to disturb you, sirs," said the manservant with a feeble sniffle, "but my master instructed me to deliver his note. He said it was urgent and also instructed me to wait for a reply."

Basil took the note causally; but upon reading it, his expression suddenly turned cross.

"What confounded impudence!" cried he, crumbling the paper and pitching it fiercely into the fire-gate. "I have no reply for him!"

"But, sir, he said I _must_ have a reply from you."

"Tell your master that I will instruct a reply in due course."

"Very well, sir," replied the valet dourly who promptly left, tugging his collar of his uniform higher and tented it over his head.

Inquisitively, I picked up the note that lodged itself in-between the iron prongs and read it:

_BASIL:_

_YOU'RE UNEMPLOYED. STOP PLAYING WITH THOSE FILTHY CHEMICALS. THAT STENCH OF YOURS CAN BE SMELT ALL THE WAY UP TO QUEER STREET. DO EVERYONE A FAVOUR AND MAKE YOURSELF USEFUL FOR ONCE! STRAIGHTEN UP AND GET A REAL JOB!_

_STEPHAN-GODDARD. _

My brow furrowed with an angered questioning: "Who is this?"

"He is a retired manufacturer who lives just across," the detective snorted with a sneer. "He is not particularly well liked among the populace and for good reason. You might have seen him. He is the most severe man, certainly not a gentleman, with large, grizzled moustache and perpetual scowl, who trudges around the walkways like a hungry troll. He's a tyrant to all who've met him. It seems that Mr. Stephan-Goddard believes his immense wealth gives him right to domineer his neighbours. Greet him at your peril, Dawson."

"I fear that I already had the displeasure. There was a man fitting that description insulted Granada over a mere trifle. I was one of a few that came to his aid to remove the brute from his shop. Our poor barber was inconsolable for hours. I wouldn't be surprised if all the mice along Baker Street would leap at a chance to swing at him."

"Indeed, you have said a mention of this incident before. I know I shouldn't take it too close to heart, Doctor; however—."

"Excuse me, gentleman?" came a voice.

* * *

URL: favdotme/d67be7r


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